


By Example

by andveryginger



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Gen, Pre-Relationship, Secret Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-02
Updated: 2016-03-02
Packaged: 2018-05-24 07:20:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6145927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andveryginger/pseuds/andveryginger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If the former KGB assassin can handle it, so can the former Deputy Director of Operations for SHIELD.</p>
            </blockquote>





	By Example

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Laimelde](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laimelde/gifts).



> My first official swing at MCU fic, and it's a bit of an AU. Yes, I'm still in denial about certain aspects of _Age of Ultron_. 
> 
> Prentiss is technically an OC, whose last name ties him to other characters within the Marvel-verse. 
> 
> Posted sans beta. All glaring errors are mine.

Morning light filtered through the window at the end of the corridor as a freshly showered and casually dressed Maria Hill stepped out of the elevator, headed toward the infirmary. She could detect the distinct aroma of antiseptic as she approached the emergency ward, a scent that grew stronger as she closed the distance. What she did not detect, however, was the usual murmur of voices, punctuated by commands issued by any of the attending physicians, nor did she hear the steady beep and hum of the usual machines.

That’s… odd, she thought, frowning. Rounding the corner to the ward, she discovered why: The entrance – typically open as Dr. Cho or Dr. Shade tended to the aftermath of a mission – had been secured. This did not bode well.

The former Deputy Director of SHIELD stepped past the closed door and tapped the pad of her index finger against the lower right corner of the darkened observation window. The expected keypad appeared and she entered her access code. As the smoky glass slowly cleared, she was allowed a glimpse into the ward. The sight that greeted her confirmed her suspicions: The injuries Romanov sustained during the operation were apparently worse than the red-headded assassin let on. She lay now on one of the beds, eyes closed, features oddly pale and relaxed.

In the chair beside her, Clint Barton sat forward, elbows propped on his knees as he kept watch over his partner. To the outside observer, he was the epitome of calm: Quiet, neutral expression; deep breaths in and out, waiting patiently for her to awaken. But Maria was more than the outside observer. She could see the way his knuckles flickered white as his grip on his hands tightened; the way the corners of his mouth tipped slightly downward; the deepened creases at the corners of his blue-grey eyes. No, Barton was decidedly  _ not _ calm.

Not that she could blame him, Maria conceded silently. The entire operation had been a prime example of why “trust, but verify” had become a catchphrase. Intelligence assets reported possible alien tech in in possession of known adversaries. Those same assets had also assured their handler that said adversaries had yet to figure out what, exactly, they held. As a result, their headquarters had been classified as a “soft target” – relatively unprotected and could be breached with minimal casualties.

What Barton and Romanov found was the complete opposite: Heavily armed mercenaries had been ready and waiting for the two agents. As a result, insertion had been messy; extraction had been even messier, requiring an improvised exit plan and a tertiary extraction point. The two agents scrambled into the quinjet under heavy fire, even as Maria got the shielded aircraft back into the skies.

Admittedly, Hill knew better than to think intelligence was ever foolproof; sometimes, it was just  _ wrong _ . But the fortifications and armaments she, Barton, and Romanov saw indicated the mercs had been in place for quite some time. There was no way this location should have ever been classified as a “soft target.” For that reason, she had been plotting the dressing down she would give the responsible handler, analysts, and assets since the Quinjet took flight. Of course, that was when she believed they had scraped through, escaping with the alien tech, and two mostly-functional agents. Given the shift in circumstances, her language was likely to be more stern and the asset was going to be lucky to walk away.

She sighed and tucked her fingers into the front pockets of her jeans. A puzzled expression flickered across her features, however, as she felt a sharp poke against her hip. Scowling, she withdrew the offending object: A simple silver arrow, suspended with a coordinating chain.

Romanov’s necklace.

Maria traced the smooth lines of the arrow with her index finger. As former Deputy Director of SHIELD, she didn’t always agree with decisions made by the director, Nick Fury. It was, he said, one of the reasons he hired her as his executive officer. Recruiting Natasha Romanov had been one such decision.

“No one will want to work with her.” The voice of Maria’s SHIELD predecessor, former Deputy Operations Director Noel Prentiss, echoed through her memories. She overheard the comment as she arrived for a meeting with the Director. It was one of the few remarks from the man she ever agreed with.

“Barton has already volunteered to act as her training agent,” Fury had replied, waving Maria into the office. “And Coulson has stepped in as their handler.”

Prentiss shook his head. “That’s how she works, Nick – lures them into her web before she goes in for the kill. She  _ earned _ that codename for a reason.” He passed Maria only a cursory glance as he then regarded the Director, hands going to his hips. “You can’t stand here and tell me you think Barton is thinking with anything above the waistline.”

Fury gave a snort, shaking his own head. “I trust his instincts, Noel.”

Deputy Operations Director Prentiss resigned some three weeks later. Four weeks later, Fury appointed Maria as his replacement.

As the executive officer, Maria familiarized herself with Barton’s personnel jacket, reading between the lines as much as was possible. As an operative, she’d worked with the assassin in limited turns. He was quiet and observant; there was very little he missed, from his targets to his ability to read body language. Above all, he was as loyal as he was lethal. So she, like Fury, trusted Barton’s instincts. It still didn’t mean she thought recruiting the former Soviet asset was a good idea.

And, throughout Romanov’s first year on the duty roster, Prentiss was right -- no one else would voluntarily work with her. True to his word, however, Barton continued as her partner; Coulson, as their handler. Accounts of their exploits slowly filtered back through the ranks. Tales of sharp tradecraft, narrow escapes, and legendary drinking games engendered both respect and resentment for the assassins.

Even as Barton and Romanov became the SHIELD poster children, their uncanny ability to anticipate each other -- to communicate without a word both in and out of the field – sparked a completely different type of gossip. Hill knew from experience that field operations formed relationships never fully understood outside: Closer than siblings with a similar hint of competition. So, prior to the Battle of Manhattan, she dismissed the rumors. Romanov and Barton were professionals, after all.

It wasn’t until Coulson called Romanov that Maria suspected there was truth to the rumors.

It wasn’t until Romanov showed up for a briefing wearing the necklace now in her hand that Maria knew the rumors were true.

“Hill!”

The voice of Steve Rogers brought her back to the present. Looking up, she spotted the familiar broad-shouldered form emerge around the corner. His usually impeccable sandy blonde hair was windblown, and his jacket was gripped in his left hand as he ran. “You’re… not in the infirmary,” he said.

Hill chose to ignore the expression of relief that swept over his features, her hand closing over the necklace. “Ah, no. Not this time.” She nodded toward the window, indicating the two former SHIELD agents. “Romanov got shot as she and Barton were climbing into the Quinjet.”

“Shot?” She watched his reflection in the glass, blue eyes visually assessing the situation for himself. A crease formed in the center of his brow. “I thought this was supposed to be an easy in-and-out.”

“That’s what we thought, too,” Maria replied. “The small army of mercs we found complicated things.”

Steve drew in a deep breath, exhaling slowly as he nodded. His lips briefly formed a thin line before he spoke. A good commander, Maria thought, hated to see his or her people injured, especially if he sent them downrange. It was worse when those people were friends. “Any word on the prognosis?”

“None,” she answered. “We knew she’d gotten hurt – Barton had to  _ drag _ her in. But she was coherent; attentive; responsive. After we landed, I sent them to the infirmary and I headed for debrief. I came up here after I got cleaned up. Found the door closed, and she’s unconscious.”

A long moment of silence stretched between them and Maria studied his profile. There was tension in his shoulders, his jaw clenched slightly. “How’s Barton?”

Maria absently drew the necklace from her closed palm, fingers tracing the links of the chain, then the smooth finish of the arrow.  She looked down, hesitating. “He’s…”

In the moment of silence that followed, she sensed a shift in Steve’s attention. Glancing up, she found him frowning as he, too, looked at the necklace. “I’d say he’s handling it about as well as can be expected, then,” he said, his gaze never leaving the silver in her hand. He nodded to indicate the small treasure.  “She dropped it during the mission?”

“I found it as I disembarked the ‘jet. Looks like the clasp got broken in the fight.”

Rogers gave a rueful smile, shaking his head. “It’s funny,” he began, “but, if I hadn’t seen that, I’d never have known.”

Maria regarded him with a furrowed brow. “Known?”

“Yeah,” Rogers answered. “I knew they were close, but…” His voice tapered off and he swallowed. “I never really gave the scuttlebutt much mind; figured it was all just rumors and gossip. But Tasha wearing  _ that? _ Around all of us? That’s pretty much like shouting things from the rooftops.”

The mental image of the two assassins standing on the tower landing pad, shouting into the night sky made Hill chuckle despite herself. “You work together long enough, I guess you really get to know someone. Trust someone.”

“You spend all your time together – missions, down time – it’s bound to happen. You start to care about someone.” Steve paused and Maria felt the tension between them amplify. He cleared his throat. “About people. About your… team.”

Steeling her nerves, Maria forced herself to hold his gaze. She nodded. “It can be hard to find someone with shared life experience.”

Blue irises sparked with hope and confusion; the crease in his brow returned, a thousand questions asked silently, in one look. “Sometimes you just have to take  _ similar _ life experiences,” he said. “Even if those experiences mean sitting by an infirmary bed, watching the person –  _ a _ person you care about fight for their life.”

Hill swallowed. “You thought it was me.”

Steve cleared his throat, pursing his lips as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. He diverted his gaze to the jacket in his hand before looking back up at her, nodding. “Tony said you were on your way to the infirmary. I didn’t exactly wait around for explanations.”

“That’s what you get for rushing in.” She kept her tone light, forcing a smile, but Maria knew she couldn’t be fooling him. Her heart was beating too rapidly against her chest, her nostrils flaring as she struggled to keep her breathing even.  

Captain America chuckled, sheepish smile creeping lopsided. “No, that’s what I get for listening to Stark.”

A long moment of silence followed, neither sure of their footing as they crossed into new territory. It was Steve who broke the silence, adjusting his shoulders as though a load had been lifted. “So,” he said at length, “how do we do this?”

Hill drew in a deep breath, then allowed a faint smile across her lips. “I don’t know.” Reaching out, she took his empty hand in hers, permitting herself the opportunity to enjoy the feel of his skin against her palm. That, she thought, would probably never get old. She then deposited the necklace into his hand and closed his fingers over it. “But I think we can start by returning this. I’m willing to bet Barton needs a friend right now –“

“And I have a pretty good idea how he might be feeling.” Steve returned the smile, nodding. He paused a beat. “Think we could grab a bite later? A cup of coffee?”

Maria pursed her lips. “I think… that could be a good start.” Releasing his hand, she stepped back, dropping her hands to her sides. “Let me know what the prognosis is. I’ll be in my office.”

An impish gleam danced in blue eyes. “As you wish.”

Ducking her head, Hill headed for the elevator, unable to fight the warmth creeping across her cheeks. This might be a great idea... or a really horrible one, she thought. Only time and a little progress would help her decide.

**Author's Note:**

> There were three possibilities: 1) "Smash the Patriarchy" - Give one or some examples of when one or more of the girls showed the boys how it's done. 2) Show how one or more of the women of SHIELD earned Natasha Romanov's trust. 3) Show the girls handling both a career and a relationship effortlessly while the guys struggle -- just a little. 
> 
> I think I ended up with a glancing blow on 1 and 3; number 2, I suspect, is in the works. Now that the muses have hold of it, at least. 
> 
> I hope this comes close to what you were asking for, Laimelde.


End file.
